Between a Rock and a Hard Place
by MrsSparrowDarcy
Summary: Hermione finds herself in a difficult situation, forced to choose between what seems right and what feels right, how will she resolve it? Dramione
1. Hermione's Hassle

Hermione stood shaking in the doorway to the empty classroom; whether from the December draft or from her most recent encounter with her best friend.

All her life she'd been the sensible and diligent one –never complaining without due and always scrambling to put the pieces back together since life was so much easier when it wasn't in shambles.

When she'd been eight her mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer and the doctors had given her a year to live. One year to live her entire life.

At first her parents had kept the news from her, saying nothing more than her mother was sick. Then she'd been hospitalized and her hair had begun to fall out. Her skin looked more and more like a thin layer of aged plastic that had been stretched over a skeleton. Sometimes she would sleep for hours in the middle of the day –looking anything but alive. Hermione's mind had wandered to dark places in those dark days. She'd often wondered why her mother of all people had to go through this. Her kind, accepting mother who wouldn't harm a fly, her mother who would rather spend a day buying winter clothes for the needy than shop for herself. Where was the justice in the world? Who deserved justice when her own mother didn't?

At first she had cried. At first she'd thought that the tears that ameliorated scrapes, burns and cuts could alleviate her pain; but no matter how many tears she shed, her situation did not change. So she stopped crying. She put away childish things and focused on healing her mother. She read countless medical texts, scouring the complicated essays and articles for a cure. She tried to appear calm and even happy around her mother and father; she found that throwing herself into other people's thoughts and experiences made it easier to ignore her own. No matter how hard she tried, there wasn't a single thing that she could do however, but it never stopped her from trying.

Finally, two weeks from the anniversary of the horrendous news, the Grangers received the best of news. Mrs. Granger's latest surgery had been a success, and she could now live out the rest of her life. Hermione had never been happier. Her family was back together the way it should have been –how could it have turned out any other way? She knew in her heart of hearts that it had been the books that had saved her, if not directly then indirectly –knowledge was clearly king. She had never again gone into anything unprepared; not school, France, Italy, Spain, Bermuda, Australia, adolescence, clothing stores, Hogwarts, or love.

Hermione was the type of person who couldn't enter a convenience store without having a lengthy mental debate over the pros and cons of buying a bottle of water –and she never went anywhere without a backup plan.

So how could she have been so rash? How could she have let someone so completely possess her heart and soul? The answer didn't come to her immediately, so she decided to look into it further. Picking herself up off of the flagstones onto which she had crumpled, she moved stiffly to the window and slowly dragged a pale finger across glass, creating a dark welt on the otherwise foggy surface. How long had she and Ron known each other? At least seven years now, surely they could get through this she thought distractedly, as her mind strayed towards the thought of pale pink lips slowly approaching her own. She wasn't stupid, in fact, she was said to be the smartest witch in her year –or even in the school. She'd known instantly when their childish arguments had heightened to mildly flirtatious banter. Had it been anyone else, she would have dismissed it as puppy love, but she knew that he didn't do anything half-heartedly, and if it was any type of love, it was too serious an issue to ignore. But she had done just that. The more she ignored it, the more pressing it became, to the point where she could hardly concentrate on anything more than his soft skin, his sly grin, his secretive glances, and his breathtakingly silver eyes. Hermione allowed herself a small grin as she remembered the feel of his silk robes and smooth skin on her own. She sighed slightly, her breath obscuring her view of the icy lake and silvery trees.

Shaking her head of her thoughts, she bravely turned back towards the matter at hand. Ron knew. How had he suspected her? Normally he was so oblivious to the world around him, but when it came to Hermione, he tended to pay a bit more attention. She'd known that he'd had a thing for her when she'd been younger, in fact she had been infatuated with him for a while as well (not that she had realized it at the time) but when she'd finally discovered her feelings, she'd realized that there was no way that they could be happy together –she was much too independent and he was much too controlling. So she had decided to forgo romance, at least until she had established herself in the world. She would live out her life to the fullest, this had been her promise to herself since her mother's frightening ordeal –and she meant to see it through. No matter how many hearts were broken; hers included.

She had thought the same thing when she had realized Draco's significance in her life. At some mysterious point, he had ceased to be the junior Deatheater in training, or the "blond ferret," or even the insecure prat who insisted on insulting her at every chance he got; instead he became more of pest and a nuisance, and then just a bother, and eventually she became aware of the murky blush that would settle itself upon her cheeks when she got into heated arguments with him, and occasionally the heart stopping eye contact that would restrict her vocal cords for moments at a time. She hadn't even noticed when he'd stopped calling her a muggle, or a mudblood, or even worthless filth because the words had become meaningless to her after hearing them parlayed between the two of them as more of a joke than active insults. His constant presence in almost all of her classes had at first been an abhorred distraction, but had eventually become the highlight of her day.

It had all changed when she'd caught him sneaking about the castle on her rounds. He'd been drinking somehow, and though he had no liquor on him, the liquor in him was incriminating enough to have him expelled. He'd done a great deal of threatening at first, and even tried a good bit of bribery, but alas nothing had worked –so he'd done something that most drunk people would do in such a situation; he'd kissed her. Not just any kiss of course –one full of years upon years of suppressed passions. It had been full of hate, remorse, fury, and most of all, curiosity. Hermione had high-tailed it out of there of course, and upon doing so, relinquished her opportunity to expel the infamous 'Slytherin Prince.' Weeks had gone by before they had met again, and then the discoveries had begun –there was so much that they had in common that she never would have guessed about; her zeal for learning was almost equaled by his, and her lust for independence and her need to cut her own path were mirrored by his ambitions as well. The minutes and hours flew from the clock like excited Pixies and their secret meetings in musty corners of the library went uninterrupted. She had never before been an advocate for using the library as a place for romantic rendezvous' but she wouldn't have traded her memories there for the world.

However Ron had begun to suspect her of something (if not everything) and had decided to make use the Marauder's Map. He'd spied on them for a grand total of thirty seconds, until he could take no more, and forcibly tore Hermione away from Draco. Now, neither of the two were dainty boys, and the last thing Hermione wanted was an all out brawl in the library (of all places!) so she'd followed Ron to an old Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and instructed Draco to go to bed. Ron had ranted for a good ten minutes before she could get a word in, and when she finally had he broke down and told her how much she meant to him, and how he couldn't bear to lose her to Malfoy, and how he loved her –and not at all like a sister. He'd tried kissing her, but she'd been firm and pushed him (gently she hoped) away. How could she be expected to handle his affection at a time like this? Draco was everything she wanted, but she couldn't help the guilt.

"Oh well…", she sighed to the empty classroom, as she moved back towards the dimly-lit hallway –only time would tell what sort of decisions she had made, but she planned on living now.


	2. Ron's Rage

"Ron! Put your wand away! I don't want to have to fight you. Draco – please leave, I have to talk to him alone." Sullenly, I lowered my wand, but kept it clenched in my fist never the less.

"You're not going anywhere you- you _deatheater_ scum!" I shouted at the bastard who had been doing Merlin-knows-what with _my_ best friend. Malfoy hadn't moved an inch, but his look of surprise quickly turned to the ugly sneer that I knew him for.

"Are you _ordering __me_ Weasley?!" He growled back with equal amounts of anger and incredulity. He shifted his weight towards me, and I could see his polished wand gleaming amidst his heavy, black robes turning subtly towards me. The room seemed to fade into the distance and the only thing I could see for a minute was his ghostly face leering in the gloom. My grip tightened on my only weapon as I unconsciously prepared to blast him to smithereens. Images began flashing through my mind, further solidifying my anger. Images of him and his filthy hands touching my pristine –friend. _My_ Hermione. Her very name sounded like that of an angel's. She couldn't help but cry for every poor, downtrodden soul in the universe. She knitted hats for house elves, even when they didn't want them. She helped those who weren't blessed with her genius, even when it lost her valuable sleep or time with her precious books. Hermione couldn't help but fall for every sob story she was told – and I wondered furiously which one this ferret had cooked up for her. There could be no other reason for it.

Hermione had only ever seen the world through her dusty books; she hadn't known the realities that he had. Even when she was in the muggle world she didn't have to deal with the real world the way Harry and I had. Her parents were wealthy, and she'd lacked for nothing. She hadn't had to endure the hard stares of the wealthy as they walked by with their expensive robes glittering rings. She hadn't endured a lifetime of cruel jibes, harsh laughter, sharp whispers and 'accidental' shoves and pushes. Malfoy was the very embodiment of all that was wrong with the world. He was one of those that had grown up learning to spit and tread upon those who didn't deserve it and kiss the hems of those who did. He had grown up without a care in the world, no responsibilities, no worries, no morals –he'd gotten everything he needed _and_ everything he wanted without even having to so much as raise a finger. But I didn't care about any of that right now, because now he was about to take something I cared more about than any of those stupid things –he was about to take Hermione.

"Over my dead body," I muttered aloud as I saw her ink-stained hand curl itself around his immaculate, marble one. Hermione's eyes darted towards mine and I shuddered slightly as she objectively delved into them as though she were reading just another book. And if the empty classroom weren't cold enough to begin with, I would have sworn that the temperature had just dropped another few degrees. She leaned towards the glowering snake and whispered something quietly into his ear. He hadn't taken his eyes off of me the entire time, but now his eyes slid towards Hermione with a look that I could only interpret as pure malice. Hermione said nothing, but pleaded with her eyes until he finally looked back towards me and then taking a deep breath, slid out of the room without a last look towards either of us.

The door finally shuddered to rest in its frame as if physically expressing the relief I felt whenever he or any of his kind left the room. I trained my eyes back on Hermione's face, and realized that she was already looking at me. They were the same eyes that I had been looking into since I was only ten years of age, and after all of these years they were still no different. They were the very same warm, brown, expressive eyes that told everyone that they were in the presence of someone extraordinary. But looking at her now, I couldn't see very much warmth in them. Where was the justice in the world?! How could she look at me with the hatred that should have been reserved for only Malfoy, and look at Malfoy, with eyes that should have been only for me?

The pain must have shown through my anger, because her eyes softened by the slightest degree, and she sighed softly. "I never wanted it to turn out this way Ron." She said, lowering her hypnotic gaze towards the dusty floor.

"I know you're smarter than this Hermione –how could you have done this?" I questioned angrily, gaining momentum once more. "Do you know how worried Harry and I have been? You've been skipping meals, snapping at us for no reason, forgetting things, sneaking out at night, and now I find out that it was all for that slimy little ferret!" I fumed, feeling my face heat up with each word. Hermione glared quietly, waiting for me to finish.

"Ron, I'm sorry I made you worry –but that was only because I was unsure of myself, I've made up my mind now, so there's no more reason to worry–"

"_No reason to worry!_" I repeated with astonishment, "You've been sneaking off with _Malfoy_, and there's _no reason to worry_?"

"I know you don't understand, and I know you don't approve, but trust me –he's not like that any more! Haven't you noticed that he hasn't bothered us in months?"

"I don't give a knut about what he does or doesn't do! I was a little preoccupied with you!"

"Well, now you know, so could you please just calm down and go to bed so that we can talk about this tomorrow?" She pleaded with the same eyes that cried for house elves, and the same hands that had corrected my shoddy homework for years.

"Hermione," I said with as much patience as I could muster, "I just can't do that. I can't leave you now Hermione. Why can't you see that it's all a lie? Whatever he's said to you is just another one of his tricks! He's inherited a forked tongue from his father, and it's a part of who he is –you can't save him Hermione!" from the look on her face it looked as though I'd hit a nerve, but I stubbornly continued, "you might be the smartest witch in our year, but you can be pretty daft sometimes, you know? There's nothing mysterious about Malfoy! He's the same self-centered snob that we've known since first year! He's the same arse that called you horrible names! He's the same one who made me cough up slugs for a day! He's the same one who tried to get Hagrid fired for his own arrogance and stupidity!" I shouted passionately, my voice cracking finally under the burden of her heavy stare, "You can't love him Hermione" I said finally, "because _I_ love you!"

Her mouth fell slightly open, and frown disappeared leaving behind only sorrow and regret –finally, I thought with an inkling of hope, she realizes who the real bad guy is.

"Oh, Ron!" she sighed quietly, casting her eyes to the floor and lightly biting her lower lip as though solving a difficult homework problem.

"You don't have to be sad and distant any more," I began hesitatingly, moving closer towards her, "you don't have to sneak off anywhere," I continued softly, as I weaved through the sea of desks, "we won't have to hide from anyone! Because everyone knows that we're meant for each other! You and I Hermione -" I said, stopping in front of her, "we're perfect for each other," I finished as I lifted her quivering chin towards my lips and leaned in to her sweet scent desperately anticipating her soft lips upon my own, and finally-

"RON!" she screamed, pushing me away with all of her might. Her finger nails dug into my course school robes, and I landed hard on a desk. After struggling to regain my balance, I turned back towards her in astonishment.

"So this is your final answer? You're going to choose that rich, obnoxious bastard over me?" I spat bitterly, ignoring my throbbing shoulder.

"Ron, please –just –let's talk about this tomorrow okay?" She said wearily rubbing her temple and turning her back towards me to stare obstinately through the foggy window into the snow covered landscape.

The set of her shoulders told me that our conversation was over –not that it mattered; I couldn't talk anyways. So I turned my back towards her as well and walked away from the dark room wondering if I would ever be able to speak to her again.


	3. Draco's Displeasure

Draco seethed quietly –much as he had been taught to do for most of his life. Sometimes, he found that it was better to let the moment pass without retaliation and simply wait until the opportune moment; the moment where he could strike with as much malice as he could manage. In the case of Ronald Weasley especially, he knew that there would be a time for retribution, but the time was not now –not while the bane and tonic of his existence was watching –not while he was yet unsure of what exactly would come out were he to open his mouth at the moment.

He paused his glaring for a moment and looked out of the corner of his eye towards the ridged witch standing at his shoulder with her pale hand in his paler one. Hermione, he thought suddenly. Her very name conjured thoughts of dust and the smell of old ink –but also the overwhelming sense of peace that she brought to his soul. Once upon a time ago her name would have pushed forward thoughts of muggles, mudbloods and everything which tainted his utopian world, but everything had changed. Perhaps she'd been reading him too many of her muggle fairytales, but when she was with him, his universe was in total equilibrium; it felt as though he truly needed nothing else _but_ her. Somehow the nightmares that had haunted him since he was a child seemed insignificant before the radiance of the dreams that she brought to him –no longer did he wake to the sound of his own gasping, hitching breaths.

"Draco," she said lowly, her gaze towards the red-headed rodent unwavering, "I need to talk to him alone, please to go bed, I'll talk to you in the morning." I turned towards her incredulously, not a chance in hell I was going to leave her alone with that stupid, worthless scum. The redhead's very existence was a threat to everything he held dear, and for Draco that meant only one thing; he had to be removed from the equation. He saw the way that he looked at her in the halls when he thought she wasn't looking, and it was sickening. Draco seethed silently for a minute. Such a devious little rodent; pretending to be her friend when all the while he wanted something more. Draco had never been a fan of such manipulation. His form of manipulation was much more sincere. If he wanted something from somebody, they would find out very quickly. Quietly he turned away from them both and walked confidently from the room.

Draco wasn't a liar, in most respects. He may have occasionally boasted or stretched the truth, but when it came down to it he had always been straightforward in his demands. If he disliked someone he would let them know, and none too subtly either. And if he wanted something, he would make sure that the right people knew about it.

Hermione had been in the first category for much of his life- even before he had known her she had been one of them. The unclean, the unknowledgeable, the unworthy. He'd heard of her kind for years before he'd actually even seen them. They were not just pitiable and strange, they were actively evil. They were diluting the precious magic that ran through his veins, without which he would be just another flightless bird, just a rat. Coming to Hogwarts he'd promised himself that he would save his father some work and drive the mudbloods out himself- make their lives a living hell until they refused to return. It shouldn't have been difficult theoretically; they were supposed to be dumber than him, uglier than him, and less popular than him. But it had all been a lie. Granger had utterly confused him at first. So much so that he had gone to great lengths to find out more about her- but there was nothing to be known, her parents were muggles after all.

The dim shadows threw themselves upon him belligerently as he trudged up the winding stairwell. The torches seemed hardly necessary though, since the moonlight pierced through the windows like cold sunbeams. Such a contradiction; just like Hermione. Her name brought forth feelings that he had once thought only material possessions could bring. But those emotions had been so fleeting- a new broomstick or trinket was only valuable until the purchase had been made, after that it was just another piece in his endless collection. Hermione was nothing like that, nothing like those other girls who came and went like summer rain, her love was constant and overflowing like the air in his lungs. Even when he said something stupid and sparked her infamous fury- he knew she loved him, and what's more, he knew he loved her.

He hadn't meant on kissing her that night on the third floor, in fact he hadn't even planned on being caught. But somehow she'd found him, dazed and lost in the endless maze of corridors. Most people would have taken the offer of 20 gallons, if not for the money then at least for the security that Malfoy wouldn't send snakes to their bed while they were sleeping. Hermione, in all her infinite wisdom, and her naive certainty in justice- refused his numerous monetary offers. So in a moment of frustration and emotional instability he'd done something. He hadn't even realized what he'd done until their lips touched, and he hadn't understood the full gravity of the situation until his hands were tangled deep in her auburn hair. She'd made a run for it of course, and he'd gotten off scot free. But what he hadn't been able to work out was why she hadn't pulled away the moment their lips touched. He'd intoxicated of course- but what about her? What influence had she been under? He allowed a little arrogance to pull his lips upwards in a half-grin as he caught a reflection of his lean, clean-cut figure in a moonlit mirror, there was no doubt about it- he was handsome. But something like that wouldn't have convinced a witch like Hermione Granger to meet his lips a second time, or a third, or a fourth…

Draco stopped suddenly in front of an aged oaken door, the hem of his dark cloak swishing to a halt about his polished shoes. The muffled sounds of an argument crept to his ears through the wood. Draco stared darkly at the very same door from which he'd exited several minutes ago. Hermione would have been smart enough to wait for his footsteps to recede, but there was no way he would leave her alone with that inbred twit. One peep out of her and he'd tear the redheaded rodent to pieces with his bare hands.

Suddenly a crash resounded through the room and as his hand flew for the handle of the door Draco heard Hermione's wavering voice dismissing Weasley from the conversation. Draco took a few steps back into the cold shadows, waiting for the boy to come out; this was when the real conversation would begin.

Weasley emerged from the great creaking door with a defeated look on his face and shoulders. His ragged robes swinging about his thin ankles as he shuffled quietly from the room towards the stairs from which Draco had just come up. Draco stood silently in the corner, waiting until Weasley was far enough from Hermione's hearing range to move in his direction. A miniscule sob stopped him in his tracks, and he gazed painfully back towards the door, torn between revenge and love. The sound of Weasley tripping over his own oversized feet brought him back to his original goal. He had to set Weasley straight, both for his own peace of mind and for Hermione's sake. He walked quickly down the winding stairwell, robes swelling and fluttering behind him in a fury matching his own. Weasley turned around to look at me with a look of confusion and hope- no doubt thinking that Hermione had run after him. The initial look of disappointment was almost reward enough.

"Malfoy," he spat angrily, "what're you doing here?"

Draco laughed harshly, pearly teeth glinting in the firelight. "I was hoping you'd ask something stupid like that Weasley, it helps to confirm that Hermione could never choose you over me." Ron gritted his teeth and took a long-legged step towards him. "You think you're going to intimidate me with that splintered excuse for a wand Weasley? Think again," Draco growled as he slipped his own wand out from his pocket with equal fury.

"Whatever you're trying to do here Malfoy- the only point you'll ever manage to make clear is that you're sodding asswipe, and _no one_, least of all Hermione, should ever have to put up with your ugly little ferret face!" Ron spat angrily, nearly forgetting the imminent threat of both Mrs. Norris and Hermione.

"What did you just call me, freckle-face?" Draco's sneered angrily at the lanky boy. "You think you'd be any better for her?"

"I may not be top of my class _Malfoy_," Ron continued in a shaking voice, "but at least I _love her_. Hermione deserves more than you could ever hope to offer her. You may be thinking that you're getting off the hook just because you have Hermione fooled- but I'll never let you get away with this."

"Oooh- I'm _so_ scared!" Draco mocked sarcastically. "What Hermione deserves is a real man- not a spineless rodent like you. You're not worthy of polishing her shoes!" he hissed.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me what Hermione does or does not deserve! A month ago you'd have said the same about her! You disgust me you sick bastard- how dare you just turn around suddenly and pretend that you love her!? What kind of demented joke are you trying to play? Even if you spent the next century as her slave you couldn't make up for what you've put her through!

"You don't know the hours she's spent crying in the lavatory because of something you or your goons said! You weren't the one to comfort her! You weren't the one to hold her! You–" Ron paused as his voice cracked, "you don't love her. Stop lying."

Draco stared resolutely into the eyes of his enemy, hoping to catch a flaw or even the glimmer of one, but there was no lie on Weasley's lips- he loved her. "I don't give a damn what you think of me Weasley. Hermione loves me, and I can make her happy- and I don't give a rat's ass what you think of it." With that Draco turned on his heel and walked smoothly back up the flagstone tiles towards the girl who had changed his life forever.


End file.
